


Of All the Places to Rest (I Like Your Arms the Best)

by Chronic_Gay_Panic



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, post vanessa death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 03:08:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17593460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronic_Gay_Panic/pseuds/Chronic_Gay_Panic
Summary: Peter is fed up.How else would he feel?





	Of All the Places to Rest (I Like Your Arms the Best)

**Author's Note:**

> ik theres like 10 thousand orher things i should be working on right now but.... here?
> 
> its small ik but
> 
> also i promose ill get around to replying to comments soon social interaction just stresses me out sometimes lol

Peter, sat on his couch, could feel the adrenaline draining from his body. It was always a thrill to swing from rooftop to rooftop, wind whistling past him as he swore he could feel the air carrying him on its back to make sure he got there safely. The thrill only multiplied when Deadpool was there, chattering away in his ear about whatever nonsense he was on about that day.

But things between him and Deadpool had gotten... complicated. Peter wasn't sure he'd call the mercenary a _friend,_ persay, even if he had sworn off his messy habit of "unaliving" people, as the man liked to call it, but still; there was something between them, Peter knew. Something keeping him from fully knowing the man. Despite the many times they had sat on top of a New York building, looking down at the people below and eating lunch in between sunny smiles and rare laughter; despite the handful of times either of them had been injured in combat, tears falling only once they had the luxury of something as trivial as mourning the living, despite Peter having ripped off his mask months ago, trying to use anything to stop the blood coming out of Deadpools chest, screaming about how he wasn't going to lose the one person who actually understood and that Peter _needed_ to be Spiderman the way a dying man needs air, despite the fact that Peter had told him his name, the one thing he kept close to his heart; guarded. Despite all of this, Peter knew next to nothing about the Merc with a Mouth.

He knew that Mr. Stark had told him that the man was not to be trusted; that he was dangerous and hardened. And, yes, Peter knew, he _was_ those things, but he was also kind and had this way about him that made you want to... Peter didn't know what it made him want to do, but it made him want to do _something._ Overall, Deapool was a frustrating and intriguing bag of contradictions.

All of that aside, however, Peter wanted to punch his face in at the moment. The man was _frustrating,_ and Peter didn't know how much longer he could put up with it. He would flirt with Peter throughout combat, buy him lunch and leave small lingering touches when he thought Peter wouldn't notice, but the _moment_ Peter made any move to reciprocate those actions? Game over. Deadpool would shut down; back off of Peter for weeks before returning like a whirlwind, with a wink and a "miss me, Baby Boy?", as if nothing had happened.

The thing was, Peter _did_ miss him when he was gone. He didn't know when he had stopped seeing himself as a solo act, but without Deadpool his nightly patrols felt bleak. Combat felt like he was just running through the motions, nothing there to liven his spirits.

It had been almost two weeks since Peter had last seen Deadpool, and god, did he _miss_ him. The next time he saw him, Peter wasn't sure if he would hug him or punch him square in the nose. Both seemed like good ideas to him at the moment, which is why Peter figured that he probably needed a good night's sleep to clear his mind.

He sighed, standing up from the couch and stretching, feeling the bones in his back pop with relief. He was stretched tight with tension, stress accumulating in all of his muscles to the point that he was certain he'd be sore in the morning, even with his spidey healing.

He was so tired and overworked that he almost didn't notice the faint whistling outside his window, a quiet voice occasionally speaking to someone unknown, interrupting the whistling with the interjections. Nothing was setting off Peter's Spidey Senses, so he almost said, "fuck it," and went to bed anyway, but he thought better of himself. Even if it wasn't setting anything off, Peter wasn't really the kind of guy to take chances with these kinds of things.

He took his shoes off and padded quietly to the window, not making any noise that might alert whoever was outside his window that he had caught onto them. Almost as soon as Peter reached the window, the whistling stopped, halting mid-tune.

Before Peter had time to react, a red and black cloaked face was peaking up from beneath the window. "Petey!" Peter could see the wide smile underneath the mask, and in that moment Peter knew exactly what he was gonna do.

Deadpool stumbled back on the fire escape as Peter's fist made contact with his face, catching himself on the railing before he could fall. "Yep, I deserved that." He cocked his head for a second, hand moving up to gingerly touch his nose. "Shut up, that's what I _just_ said."

Peter shook his head, sighing, before silently inviting Deadpool inside his apartment; it wasn't as if he hadn't seen it in a worse state anyway. "You're such a dick, y'know that, 'Pool?"

Deadpool swung himself into the apartment, feet landing on his floor with a thud that he was sure he'd be getting a complaint about by tomorrow. He let out a small laugh. "So I've been told, Petey Pie. But, speaking of dicks..."

Deadpool kept talking, but Peter tuned him out, wondering how he was supposed to get to sleep with the mercenary chattering away in his bedroom. He sighed, grabbing a change of clothes and towel from his dresser. "I'm taking a shower, DP. Make yourself at home."

He tacked the last part on despite not really wanting to at the insistence of a small voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like aunt May. Deadpool paused mid sentence, and Peter was about to apologize for being so short with him before the man opened his stupid mouth.

"What no invite? C'mon, Petey, you know I would _love_ to get my hands on-"

"Just shut the hell up, Deadpool!" Deadpool stood there blinking at him, taken aback. "You talk and talk and talk, but when it comes down to it, you just want to lead me on." Peter ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "I know I should be over it, but, Christ I don't even know your name! So just drop the act and let me take a goddamn shower."

Deadpool was silent for a moment, a rare occurrence, and Peter's shoulders slumped. Well, there it was, out in the open, then. He turned his back to the man, stepping into the respite of his bathroom.

"Wade."

Peter froze before slowly turning around to face the man again. There was vulnerability written all over the way he was holding himself, Peter could see it even through the suit.

"May name is Wade Wilson. _I_ know _that."_ Peter was almost certain that last part wasn't for him. "But I guess that depends on which author you prefer."

Peter scoffed, shaking his head. He supposed it wouldn't be Deadpool without him adding something to the end that made approximately no sense.

Peter could see something shift in him then, almost imperceptible, but Peter knew he had never seen Deadpool this serious before. "Petey, I- I _want_ you. I am _so_ goddamn attracted to you, but. I _can't._ I _can't_ put anyone else in danger. Not- not like..."

He trailed off, but Peter knew what he was going to say anyway. _Not like I put her in danger._ Deadpool didn't talk about Vanessa often, but everyone in New York new about Deadpool's dead wife once he almost burned down the whole state trying to kill himself. Peter didn't see him for months afterwards.

Peter didn't know how to fix this; if it could be fixed. He simply held the man. Held him as Wade clutched to him and sobbed. Held him until there were no more tears for him to cry.

And when Wade could finally stop sobbing; could finally stop replaying Vanessa's death in his head, Peter would help him lay back on his bed, mask still on at Wade's insistence, and well, Peter couldn't blame him for it anymore. The man was too vulnerable to be able to. Peter would curl up beside him and let Wade cling to him like a lifeline; like the only thing that was keeping him afloat.

And in the morning, when Peter awoke to a cool breeze and the sun shining through an open window, Wade would be gone, and Peter would curl in on himself and try to forget the way Wade's hands felt on his back, the way his chest rumbled in Peter's ear when he spoke.

Peter would try to forget that he was slowly falling in love with Wade Wilson.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! If you liked it, please leave a kudos, and comments are always appreciated!!


End file.
